| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Letters of Robert Louis Stevenson by Robert Louis Stevenson: which may justify us in printing. The swinging of his stick and
not knowing the sailor of Coruiskin, in particular, and the account
of how he wrote the lives in the Bell Book particularly please me.
I hope my own little introduction is not egoistic; or rather I do
not care if it is. It was that old gentleman's blood that brought
me to Samoa.
By the by, vols. vii., viii., and ix. of Adams's HISTORY have never
come to hand; no more have the dictionaries.
Please send me STONEHENGE ON HORSE, STORIES AND INTERLUDES by Barry
Pain, and EDINBURGH SKETCHES AND MEMOIRS by David Masson. THE
WRECKER has turned up. So far as I have seen, it is very
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Around the World in 80 Days by Jules Verne: thought him a lunatic, and blamed his Reform Club friends for having
accepted a wager which betrayed the mental aberration of its proposer.
Articles no less passionate than logical appeared on the question,
for geography is one of the pet subjects of the English;
and the columns devoted to Phileas Fogg's venture were eagerly
devoured by all classes of readers. At first some rash individuals,
principally of the gentler sex, espoused his cause, which became
still more popular when the Illustrated London News came out
with his portrait, copied from a photograph in the Reform Club.
A few readers of the Daily Telegraph even dared to say,
"Why not, after all? Stranger things have come to pass."
Around the World in 80 Days |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Poems by Bronte Sisters: They kindled the perishing ember
Into fervour that could not decay.
Awaken, o'er all my dear moorland,
West-wind, in thy glory and pride!
Oh! call me from valley and lowland,
To walk by the hill-torrent's side!
It is swelled with the first snowy weather;
The rocks they are icy and hoar,
And sullenly waves the long heather,
And the fern leaves are sunny no more.
There are no yellow stars on the mountain
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